


I hope you realize strawberries mean war

by scriggly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, First Time, Humor, M/M, Post-Season/Series 11 AU, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriggly/pseuds/scriggly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Dean thinks Mary is a hallucination, Sam thinks he's in heaven, John's no longer in Hell, and everybody smiles for a selfie using Crowley's phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I hope you realize strawberries mean war

**Author's Note:**

> To my dearest friend (you know who you are): This is why I've been a nuisance all these months about whether or not you watched the finale. I wrote this back in May to cheer myself up after the finale and planned to wait until you'd watched it to avoid spoilers. But since a very dear someone is apparently never going to watch the finale :D :D :D and since Comic Con probably already spoilered you, I felt I could safely post this now. <3
> 
> WARNINGS: Utter, unabashed crack.  
> Heavily John-positive.  
> Blood and gore that does not turn out to be either.
> 
> Title from Bugs Bunny. :)
> 
> Also, if John resembles The Walking Dead's Negan, that's because the first time I saw a Negan pic on my dash I immediately thought John would definitely look like that in Purgatory.

Oh, Dean is _so_ going to kill Amara.

Unleashing her evil powers on the world because it took up her brother's attention was one thing. Dean can understand that. He'd been the exact same way when Sam had skipped off to Stanford. Minus the black smoke and all of Amara's deadly tantrums, sure, but it was essentially the same thing.

Accidentally zapping Dean to heaven, however? And after Dean fixed Amara's relationship with her brother and oh by the way also saved the _world,_ no less?

That's a whole other can of stinking fish.

Mary is still gaping at him, and Dean figures he's being downright rude not having said anything to her yet. And he will – just as soon as he's found the words: It's not that he isn't overjoyed to see her; it's just that Sam is probably already researching deals and summoning every creature under the sun to try and bring Dean back.

Dean really hopes his idiot little brother doesn't try to summon Billie, or he'll find a seriously pissed off reaper on his hands when she finds out she didn't get to reap Dean.

_Hang on._

How did Dean die without going through Billie?

Impossible. Billie would never stand for it.

Actually, why would Amara send him to heaven in the first place? Not two minutes ago she'd been the most grateful psychotic serial killer he'd ever met. She'd even had tears in her eyes.

Nah. This isn't Amara's doing.

Dean glances at his mother who is still gaping very convincingly at him. In her very convincing nightgown.

If this isn't Amara's doing, then something else brought Dean here.

 _Angels_.

How could Dean not have seen that? The angels must have been pretty damn pissed when Dean saved the world, given their eternal boner for destroying it. And to rub salt in the wound, Chuck had pretty much said Sam and Dean are better than all angels combined, feathers, grace, and all, when he left the world in Sam and Dean's care.

Yikes. The angels must be _seething,_ and they already have some serious anger management issues to begin with.

This actually makes perfect sense. Some junkless dick is jealous, and whoever it is zapped Dean to heaven then pulled a Zachariah and conjured up yet another Mary hallucination, thinking Dean wouldn't even question it.

Well, Dean is on to those douchebags and their douchebaggery.

This is great news. This means his number's not up yet. He just needs to find out how to get out of heaven, which he's done before. If anything, it should be easier the second time around. He'll just remind the angels he's sort of their boss's pet-protégé-counselor. Ish. Then he'll threaten tattling on them, and that should do it. Dean dares to hope he'll even be back before Sam has done anything stupid.

Dean only realizes he's grinning when Fake Mary breaks into a beaming smile.

He hastily wipes off his grin. Okay. Ignore the hallucination. Try to lure out the dicks who created her. Dean clears his throat and looks around at the emptiness. “Okay, you bastards. I know you’re there."

Nothing.

"Do I really need to bring up Chuck's wrath when he finds out about this?"

Still nothing. Fake Mary peers at him curiously.

"Listen up, you petty little douchewads. Zap me back wherever my brother is and this little detour stays between us."

“Um. Who are you talking to?”

Dean shakes his head bitterly. They even gave her the exact same lilt of Mary's voice, the bastards. "Fine. I tried to be nice, you assholes. Don’t blame me when-"

"Again, who are you talking to?"

"Look, lady."

Her eyebrows shoot up.

"I don't have time for another hallucination. My brother thinks I'm dead and he tends to go lethal when that happens. Shacks up with demon chicks and douches up the car. And _don’t_ get me started on the dogs."

Or the sad chicks who own the dogs.

Dean doesn't have time for hallucinations. He has to rescue Sam and he has to do it _fast._

(Really, for a sensitive, intelligent hero who went to hell for all mankind, Sammy can be so stupid sometimes. The kid should know by now he can have his pick of women. But who does he go for? Demon bitches who lie to him in order to seduce him or civilian emo chicks who think they _know_ Sam and let their dogs slobber all over both Sam _and_ Baby, as if to spite Dean twice.)

A wave of something hungry and furious skitters through Dean's skin, the same hungry fury that has simmered just below Dean's skin all his life and that only Sam can provoke. Or things related to Sam. Like fucking Stanford.

Dean clenches his jaw and glares around at the trees. "Last chance, you assholes. Zap me back. Or Chuck will take it out of your lily white asses. Do you hear me?"

"Um. I know the shock of seeing your mom after all these-"

"Shut up about my mom. We both know you're not my mom."

“Er. We do?"

She's looking at him like he has three heads, and Dean really doesn't have time for this. He needs to get back ASAP to stab whichever demon bitch is trying to seduce Sam in the fucking heart or to scare off Sam's new chick, before Sam knocks her up and wrecks the rest of his life (seriously, Sam has been incredibly lucky the last chick with a dog hadn't had enough sense to get pregnant. Instead the moron had left Sam for her husband. Dean had ensured things would remain that way, true, but it still doesn't stop him shuddering at her staggering stupidity).

Fake Mary shakes her head. "I don't believe this. Your girlfriend zaps me out of Tuesday canasta night and I don’t even get a hug?"

"My girlfriend?"

"I hope she doesn't expect me to be all nice and-"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

She looks at him like her heart is breaking. "At least you have your looks, sweetie."

"What. Are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your little girlfriend's lack of respect, summoning me like that. Hello? Mother of the Vessels? I'm sitting at the table with the best hand I'd had in centuries, let me tell you, when we all hear that haunting refrain." She deepens her voice, mocking. " _Dean Winchester will get what he needs most._ Frankly it was more screechy than haunting, if you ask me, but-"

Hang on a second. "Amara? Amara's not my girlfriend."

" _Sure._ That's why you're on first name basis with the Darkness."

"Look. I don't have time for this. We both know what you are."

"Oooo-kay. What am I?"

" _Please._ I mean, the same nightgown? Every single time? No burns or blood stains from that night? And you're still barefoot. You're not even trying."

"I don't believe this," she shoots back, hands on hips. "I come back from the dead and my son criticizes my fashion sense?"

Dean groans. "I really don't-"

"Don’t talk to me," she hisses, whirling around and flouncing off to stand a few feet away, sulking, one bare foot tapping the gravel.

Dean rolls his eyes and decides he's wasted enough time talking to drama queen hallucinations. He's about to turn his back on her and go find a way to contact Sam, when Billie shimmers into the air before him. She nods at him in that infuriating amused-royalty way of hers.

Dean's heart sinks. So he is dead, after all. Or about to die. Or is dying. "Oh crap."

"How polite."

"Sorry," he says, resigned. He glances at Fake Mary. "Psst, lady-"

"I _said_ don't talk to me," Fake Mary snaps.

Billie turns around, startled. "Mary? What are you doing here?"

"See?" Fake Mary says, whirling around to point at Billie and glare at Dean (really, they even gave her Sam's ridiculous grace). "That's the first question a normal person asks. You'll notice she did not criticize my clothes."

Billie looks aghast. "You what? You? _You_ of all people?"

Dean can't believe this. "I can't believe this. You're here to reap me and you're faulting my fashion sense?"

"Stings, doesn't it?" Fake Mary gloats, then looks confused. "Hang on. Reap you?"

Billie studies him for a beat, then leans closer to Fake Mary. "Just how many times did you drop him? You know, before burning horribly on the ceiling?"

Fake Mary gasps. "How. Dare. You. I never dropped him."

"Probably John then."

"Hey! Dad never dropped us," Dean hisses. Then he takes a deep breath. "Er. Billie. Can I ask for one favor? Seeing as I've just literally saved the world?"

Billie tilts her head expectantly.

"Is there any way I can watch over Sam from the Empty?"

"What's the Empty?" Fake Mary asks.

"Er, never mind," Billie says hastily. "You're not going, er, there, Dean."

"What's the Empty?" Fake Mary says, in a louder voice.

"Oh my god," Dean whispers. If he's not going to the Empty, then… "I'm going back to Hell."

"That's it," Fake Mary mutters darkly, "I'm hunting down John's baby-dropping ass. Dean, you're not going to Hell. You're not even dead, you idiot."

"Then I'm about to die. Never really been clear on the mechanics of the whole thing."

"I know, right? Me neither. But no, you're not about to die. And you," Fake Mary adds to Billie. "Is that where you've been shipping all your reapees? Construction site 007, northwest corner of heaven? You call it the Empty?"

Billie squirms. "Er…"

"007?" Dean asks.

Fake Mary glares. "The _Empty?_ "

"I mean, I considered the Void for a while, but the Empty's edgier. Sort of."

"All those mass disaster souls? Everybody in Heaven has been wondering where they are and you've been using them as free labor to build your retirement villa?"

"How on earth did you find out about my villa?"

"Hello? Mother of the vessels? It comes with its perks."

"Hang on," Dean says. "If I'm not dead, where are the angels who got me here and made me hallucinate Mom?"

Billie sighs. "At least you have your looks, kid."

Fake Mary snaps, "Hey. Don't insult my son." Then she glances at him, and sighs. "At least you have your looks."

Dean tries a different question. "Can you take me to Sam, then? Do we have to find the secret garden first?"

Billie says. "We're not in Heaven, kid. We're actually quite close to the bunker. And the Winchesters have broken the natural order once again."

Dean looks at his mother, incredulous. "Mom? You're not a hallucination a Zachariah wannabe made to trick me?"

Mary stalks over to him and pulls him into a hug. "Seriously. Glad you have your looks, kiddo."

Billie is standing looking at the ground, head hung in shame and hands twisting. "Those souls would've been bored in regular heaven, you know," she says in a small voice. "I divided them into teams and gave them motivational bonuses and breaks and everything. We even have a Best Team cup. They told me they've never been so existentially fulfilled."

They both ignore her. Dean untangles himself from his mother's arms. "Mom, we have to find Sam before he does something stupid."

"Billie," Mary says, eyes flashing with determination. "Take us to my youngest and I _might_ consider not telling on you."

"I'm on it," Billie says eagerly. "I'm incredibly attuned to the Big W's soul frequency, you know."

"Just zap us there," Dean mutters. Now a reaper's perving about Sammy's soul frequency. As if demon bitches and geeky civilian chicks with dogs weren't enough.

Dean looks at his mom and decides he's not going to kill Amara after all. Sam's finally going to get the crusts cut off his PB & J sandwiches. If Dean doesn’t stop grinning so hard his cheeks'll cramp.

Billie's eyes fly open. "The Big W is in trouble."

"What's wrong?" _Damn it, Sammy._ Dean's been gone what, an hour?

"I can feel waves of excruciating agony all over his soul frequency."

"Take us to him," Dean snarls.

Billie fists a hand in Dean's shoulder and another in Mary's, and they disappear…

…and materialize in the bunker.

Which is swathed in silence.

"I don't hear anything," Mary says. "I thought you said excruciating agony."

"They're all internal screams," Billie says. "He's silent, but I can hear his pain very loudly. Your youngest is not only hot but also amazingly brave, Mary."

"Where is he?" Dean asks, about to go out of his fucking mind.

"In the…" Billie closes her eyes and concentrates. "In the dungeon. You have a dungeon?"

Dean whirls around, hand curling around his gun. Someone dared to hurt Sam in his own home? Whoever it is is going to _bleed._

Billie grabs his arm. "And where do you think you're going?"

"To my brother," Dean hisses, yanking his arm out of her hold.

"Really? Because I could've sworn you were going to barge in there half-cocked and get yourself captured as well. We need backup. There are five armed people in Room 7B."

"People? Not monsters or demons or-"

"Just people," Billie says.

"Crap. That's ten times worse." Dean pulls out his cell and hits speed dial.

"The squirrel who saved the world," Crowley coos.

"Drop whatever you're doing and get your ass to the bunker pronto, Crowley. Sam's in trouble."

Crowley appears a beat later. "Billie. Mary. Looking gorgeous. Heard the screechy refrain. So. What happened to my favorite Moose?"

***

Crowley wastes no time flinging all five assholes hard against the walls before tying them up in sad heaps on the floor. Dean still gets in some super satisfying kicks on his way to the shelving units.

"Hang on," Crowley says when Mary starts pushing the shelves next to Dean. "Mary, there's no telling what state Sam is in. Seeing you might shock him badly. I suggest you and I stay back and guard our prisoners."

Mary nods.

The shelving units slide open. "Sammy," Dean breathes.

Sam is in the corner, hands tied up above his head in cuffs dangling from the ceiling. He's also shirtless (Dean is going to _kill_ them all), his torso streaked with angry pink scratch-like marks (Dean is going to kill them all agonizingly _slowly_ ). On the plus side, he's not missing any fingers or toes, and his jeans are thankfully intact.

Dean is still going to kill each and every one of them.

Sam raises his head and squints at him. "Dean? Dean! Is it really you?"

Dean rushes to his side and starts undoing the cuffs, Billie trailing in after him. "I'm sorry it took me so long, Sammy."

"Dean – oh my god, it _is_ you! I knew it." Sam is grinning delightedly. With lips and teeth smeared in thick red.

Dean stops attacking the cuffs to hold Sam's head steady with one hand and his chin with the other. "Is that blood? I'm so going to _kill_ them-"

"Dean, it _is_ you," Sam says with a dopey, happy, bloody smile. The chains clang loudly every time he tries to pull his hands down to hug Dean, and the same hunger Dean has never understood prickles and skitters in his veins.

"What did they do to you? Sammy, fucking hold still!"

"Who cares? I'm here now," Sam says, laughing loud and carefree. A red glob falls out of his mouth.

Dean bends down to pick it up and peer at it.

"Ew," Billie says.

Dean is _shaking_ in fury. "Sam. Is that…"

Sam nods bravely. "They asked me what I wanted my truth serum in." A few more red gobs tumble out of his mouth and splatter on the floor.

"You asked them to put your truth serum in strawberry juice?" Dean whispers, incredulous.

Billie steps closer. "He was in terrible agony because of strawberries?"

"He's allergic! I mean, going to hell, living with the devil in his head… That's one thing. But enduring this? Why, Sammy? Why'd you do it?"

Sam looks at Dean solemnly. "You were dead. Nothing mattered anymore."

"Sammy," Dean breathes, stricken.

"Doesn't matter, Dean. It's over," Sam says earnestly - before shuddering when Billie lays a hand on his tousled mop.

"Hey," Dean yells. The chains clang loudly again as he pulls Sam away with an arm around his waist, smoothing the top of Sam's head clean of Billie's touch. Dean can feel Sam's nose burrowing into his shoulder and his arm tightens automatically around his brother.

Billie rolls her eyes. "Just healed his allergic reaction. You're _welcome._ I'll go check on our guest of honor."

"You do that. There you go," Dean grunts, pulling back and reaching up and finally undoing the cuffs. Sam falls into his arms, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Sam lifts his head. "Hi," he says, beaming at Dean with a mouthful of strawberry pulp.

"Hey," Dean wheezes under Sam's ginormous weight, grinning back. Sam looks hilarious. "You'll never guess who's waiting outside, Sammy."

"Doesn't matter. That was Billie, Dean."

"Yes, and she obviously didn't fully heal you." Dean doesn't mind. Dopey Sam is adorable, although he makes that simmering hungry anger bubble a little hotter for some reason Dean doesn't understand.

"No, _Dean,"_ Sam says, "Billie. Reaper. _Finally._ "

"Finally what?"

"Finally we're in heaven," Sam says, looking at him like Dean's a moron. "I can do anything I want and you will never hate me here."

"I could never hate you anywhere, dumbass."

Instead of getting his massive weight off Dean, Sam turns his head and spits on the floor, turns back and wipes his mouth on the collar of Dean's denim shirt, hot breath brushing Dean's clavicle and messy hair falling everywhere and tickling Dean's nose, then raises his head and leans in and kisses Dean on the mouth.

Unthinking, Dean kisses back. It takes his brain a few glorious moments to catch up and realize that he's desperately holding on to Sam in every way possible, one hand tangled in Sam's sweat-soaked hair, another hand curled in the soft skin of Sam's back, and both legs spread to trap Sam between them.

Bewildered, Dean is helpless against the avalanche of realizations, the strongest and clearest being the realization that _this_ is it – this is the frustrated, angry hunger that has simmered just out of reach under his skin all his life, this is why he's always made fun of Sam and snapped at Sam and _craved_ to throttle Sam every time Sam opened that mouth to speak, rant, smile, eat, instead of opening it up for Dean's tongue.

This is the missing piece Dean never even knew had been eluding him all his life, the single vital piece slotting distinctly, truly, effortlessly home.

Sam tries to pull back ( _unacceptable,_ doesn't Sam realize this would rip the life out of Dean?) and Dean grabs his head with both hands, gasping and starving and stunned, stunned, _stunned_.

"Dean," Sam says, before Dean drags him down into a sloppy kiss, chasing Sam's spit. "Dean," Sam repeats, pulling back again, "why does heaven look like our dungeon?"

"Not dead," Dean says, stealing another messy kiss. "Bunker. Bomb diffused," kiss, "Mom's back. Outside."

Sam gapes at him, perfect red lips parted and pink tongue glistening between them.

"Oh god, c'mere," Dean begs, voice unrecognizable and mouth dry and blood on fire, sucking on Sam's tongue.

"Footsteps," Sam murmurs into one last kiss that turns into five last kisses. He pulls away and takes his delicious mouth with him, standing up silkily, graceful bare feet on either side of Dean's hips and one golden-skinned hand disappearing into his jeans pocket to try and adjust…

A frustrated groan slips out of Dean's mouth as his head hits the floor and his thighs fall open. Sam sends a heated glance searing the hot length trapped in Dean's pants.

The footsteps come to a stop just outside the dungeon.

"Hello boys," Crowley says, leaning against one shelving unit, hands in pockets and legs crossed at the ankle. "What's wrong with Dean?"

"Dean's fine," Sam says, offering Dean a hand and helping him up to wobbly feet, because damn it Sammy shirtless smells fantastic.

Crowley studies them. "Indeed. Perhaps we should find you a shirt all the same, Moose, out of consideration for your big brother."

Dean glares at Crowley.

"Well? Your enchanting mother and that gorgeous Billie are in the library," Crowley says, leading the way as as he steps daintily over one of Sam's attackers on the ground. Dean kicks the unconcsious pile closest to him on his way out.

"Dean," Sam admonishes.

"I'm going to _kill_ them," Dean growls, glancing at Sam over his shoulder.

Sam's eyes are heated, riveted on Dean, who stumbles and almost crashes into Crowley if not for Sam's strong arm around his waist.

"Thanks," Dean whispers, realizing he has an arm around Sam's bare shoulders. Good thing too – Sam smells so good and his lips are so red Dean is dizzy. Dean licks his lips and watches Sam's pink tongue mirror the gesture.

Crowley sighs and snaps his fingers. A whirlwind of Sam's plaid and denim shirts sail through the corridor and hit Dean in the head. "Dean, quit ogling your brother. Sam, put on a shirt. Or seven. And let's get going."

***

Outside the dining room, Crowley stops and says, "Now, this occasion calls for the complete set, don't you think?"

"Stop talking in fucking riddles," Dean snaps, still mad for having been robbed of the getting-Sam-a-shirt pretext to kiss his brother again in Sam's room. Or Dean's room. It doesn't matter which. Anywhere's fine. Dean just wants to kiss his gorgeous baby brother who not only helped Dean realize he's been dying to kiss Sam all his life but also actually wants to kiss Dean back.

Sam runs a hand through the sweat-drenched silk on his gorgeous head. Dean glares harder at Crowley.

Crowley smirks at him and starts chanting in Latin. A speck of light shimmers in the air, expanding and darkening until it's a hole of swirling silver as big as a window.

"What the fuck, Crowley?" Dean grabs Sam's shoulder the moment Sam grabs his sleeve.

Then John jumps out of the glittering silver, brandishing a baseball bat covered in barbed wire.

He's a lot skinnier and rough-looking and he's wearing a leather jacket that's even more badass than the one Dean has kept all these years. And it's undeniably, wonderfully John.

Before Dean can find his voice, a hairy, clawed hand emerges to keep the hole from shrinking in on itself and a huge werewolf jumps out and lunges at John.

Dean whips out his gun but before he can shoot, the werewolf starts… _bouncing_ on all fours around John and… _yipping._ Then he stands on his hind legs and licks John's face.

"Ugh," John mutters, wiping his face with his sleeve and glaring at the werewolf. "Damn it, Garth. I told you how I feel about weredrool."

"Sorry, Mr Winchester." The werewolf morphs into none other than Garth, who stands there sheepishly while John scolds him.

"Dad?" Sam breathes. Dean can't find his voice.

John stares at them, stunned.

"Fresh from Purgatory," Crowley says. "I found an ancient spell."

Dean hears him without lifting his gaze off his father. Sam's fingers curl in Dean's sleeve.

"Sam? Dean?" John asks, voice hushed, as if doesn't dare believe his eyes.

Dean finds himself crushed in John's arms, Sam squeezed into the tight hug right along with him. Dean closes his eyes on the tears as John's familiar scent engulfs his senses, and for a moment he's a little boy again, Sammy sprawled asleep in his lap in a motel bed, John working diligently on his journal on the other bed.

"Seriously?" Mary's voice pipes up. "I don't get a hug until he's satisfied I'm not a hallucination, but John? Oh no. John he hugs immediately."

John stills and looks up from where he's sandwiched between his sons.

Mary eyes him coolly. "Gonna ask if I'm a hallucination too?"

John untangles himself from his boys gently and walks over to Mary, incredulous wonder on his face.

She gives him a once over. Smirks. "You look… badass. I-"

He sweeps her into his arms before she can finish. The smirk melts off her face and she clings to John just as desperately as he's clutching her, his hand curled around her head, her nose buried in his shoulder.

"Hang on," Mary says, voice shaky and eyes shining, gently shoving John away. "There's someone I still haven't met."

"Oh, Mrs Winchester, I'm so incredibly touched," Garth says, red-faced and pleased as Mary walks in his direction...

…and looks up at Sam, opening her arms. Dean rests a grounding hand on Sam's back and shoves him into Mary's arms. This time, looking at his giant little brother bent nearly in half to fit inside their mother's hug, Dean's eyes sting with happy tears.

Then he notices Garth grinning at him.

Crap. "Oh no. _No._ I said no. Garth, don't you dare."

Purgatory has evidently done something for Garth, however, because when he hugs Dean he lifts him off the ground so Dean's legs are dangling in the air.

"Put me down!"

"Oh, Dean! I've missed you so much."

"Garth. Put. Me. Down!"

Garth complies, then hugs Sam without lifting him off the ground, the asshole.

***

Sitting squeezed next to Sam with John, Mary, Billie, Crowley, and Garth at the bunker's dining table around piles of delicious smelling pizza, Dean still can't get over the Purgatory thing. Even the hilarious sight of Mary swimming in one of Dean's green plaid shirts and a pair of Dean's jeans that she has bunched up with a belt tied around her waist _twice_ doesn’t compare.

"After everything you've been through in Hell, they put you in Purgatory."

"Nobody put me there, son," John says. "I escaped."

"Then how come you're not in heaven? Far as I know, getting out of hell is the tricky part."

"I made it all the way to Heaven. They wouldn't let me in."

"Sounds about right for the douchebags there," Dean spits bitterly.

Crowley sneers. "The douchebags _and_ their red tape. John's reaper died in the fall – which Sam's charming abductors actually consider Sam's responsibility, fyi. John can't get in without his reaper. I tried explaining it a gazillion times: Sacrificed his soul for his son, the same son who happens to be Michael's first vessel, blah blah blah, but _no._ They can't bend one lame rule for John Winchester himself." Crowley sighs. "Anyway, John needed a place after escaping Hell. So I took him to Purgatory. He's been there for the past six months."

Dean is just about to tear Crowley a new one – he could've told them – when Garth pipes up, "Cleaned it all up, more like."

Sam catches Dean's eye, amazed and intrigued, and it helps ground Dean a little. They raise their eyebrows at their dad. "Cleaned it up?"

"Oh, yeah. Mr Winchester is so badass," Garth says in dreamy adoration. "All the monsters are terrified of him. It's all peace and order now and there's a weekly trunkball tournament every eclipse. Everyone bets on the sirens, and then they all lose because of course only the werepires can win."

"Vamwolves," Mary says.

"Um," Garth says. "Sorry?"

"You mean the vamwolves."

"Er," Garth replies, glancing at John nervously, obviously wary of offending the one and only Mary. "I didn't even know they existed, but, um. Well, everybody at Purgatory calls them werepires."

"Clearly they're all idiots then. It's vamwolves."

"So that's where you get it from," Sam tells Dean, grinning.

***

Sam and Dean take their parents on a tour of the bunker. They tell them about the Men of Letters and the Legacy business, and it's incredible to watch John's face as he realizes his father never abandoned him but was actually a brave non-hunter who got trapped here and sacrificed his life.

"I know what you're feeling, Dad," Sam says.

Dean tries to telepathically insist Sam stop embarrassingly but determinedly stomping through Very Tricky Emotional Territory, but it doesn't work.

"I know what it's like to realize a lifetime later that your father did everything for you, and in the end gave up his life. Because he was a hero. Is a hero," Sam amends, before John pulls him into a crushing hug.

Garth snuffles into a Kleenex while Billie and Crowley ooh and aah then flatout refuse to let Mary and John even consider going out for a cruise in the Impala with Sam and Dean.

"It's the bloody angels," Crowley explains. "They don't know how John escaped Hell or where he is, and they'll never believe the Darkness brought Mary back. If they find you two here, they're going to come after you. You're not safe here."

Silence falls on the entire table.

"I'm not letting you drag John back to Hell," Mary says defiantly.

"Damn straight," Dean says hotly.

Crowley smiles. "How do you feel about Purgatory, Mary? The boys can drop by whenever they like."

Mary turns to John. "At least we'll go together this time."

"I never wanted anything else," John says, taking Mary's hand in both of his and tucking her next to him with his other arm.

They turn to Billie, brave and noble and self-sacrificing as always, and another snuffle falls out of Garth's mouth. Dean doesn't blame him. His parents are the most heroic heroes that have ever… heroed.

"Okay," Mary says, rubbing her hands. "So is Billie going to reap us first? Then hand us over to Crowley? This whole reaping thing is confusing."

Dean nods hard.

Mary continues, "Either way, all I ask is that you give us a chance to say goodbye to our boys."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "There will be no reaping or killing. You came back as an exception by the Darkness herself. No one knows I smuggled John out here. We don't need to go through the regular channels."

Dean marvels. "So… What, you just open that silver hole thing and they climb in? I mean out?"

"Exactly," Crowley says, turning his cell phone towards Mary and John. "Even the fate and destiny app shows no change in your dead status. I refreshed it seven times."

So it's decided. Mary gives Sam Crowley's phone despite Crowley's half-hearted complaints and makes everybody gather around her. Sam's slender fingers hold the phone at ideal selfie distance (Dean's pulse skitters at the sight of those long arms and he tightens his arm around Sam's waist). Mary puckers up at the phone and Sam takes a snapshot.

Then Mary makes Garth morph back into a werewolf and Sam snaps another selfie of all of them.

They all receive a copy of the two pics by bluetooth, except for Mary whose phone is in Heaven, on the Tuesday canasta table.

Mary and John hold Sam and Dean for a long time, hushed. This time the hugs feel like they're going on forever and like they're never going to be enough at the same time.

When they pull back, everybody valiantly holding back tears, Garth sobs uncontrollably into more Kleenex.

John holds Dean's gaze, then Sam's. "I'm proud of you, boys."

Mary stares at him incredulously. "Can’t you say you love them?"

Sam and Dean burst out, "We know he does-"

"It goes without saying!" John says helplessly. But he says it all the same. And they say it back.

"Crowley," Billie says, thoughtful. "Any land I can buy in Purgatory?"

"Tons. In fact I own a little place there myself. A splendid little Tuscan villa I call..." Crowley pauses for effect. "The 007."

Billie smiles. "Got room for one more?"

Then Sam and Dean stand back and watch their parents (followed by their pet werewolf and Billie) climb into Purgatory.

Dean is struck by the insanity of life, and feels that he's going to need several centuries to process what just happened and think about miracles and destiny.

Until Sam turns to him and asks, "Dean? You okay?"

With that red mouth, and that pink tongue, and that long neck rising gracefully from all those plaid shirts.

Dean pulls Sam into a messy kiss, crashing them both onto the floor, unable to get enough of Sam's spit and tongue and lips while his hands blindly shove at Sam's shirts in search of skin. Sam's fingers curl inside Dean's back pockets to pull Dean tighter on top of him, and Dean's lust-dizzy awareness shrinks to the heavenly taste of Sam's spit and all of Sam's hot little mewls and puffs and gasps falling into Dean's mouth and the scorching _thick_ length snug in Sam's jeans against Dean…

"Hello boys. I left my phone… Oh good god," Crowley shrieks, stopping in his tracks.

"Get out, Crowley," Sam bites out, tearing his mouth off Dean's, lips red and kiss-swollen and shiny with Dean's spit, eyes blown and silken hair splashed around him, temptation on legs and fuck, _only_ Dean gets to feast his eyes on this.

"I need counseling. I  _deserve_ counseling," Crowley amends, still looking at Sam. "It's bad enough I have to deal with Squirrel in my dreams-"

"Hey," Sam snaps, rough and possessive and going straight to Dean's cock.

"-now it's going to be Moose and what he looks like spread out on the floor with his hair all-"

"Crowley," Dean snarls.

High heels tap, coming down the bunker stairs.

"Bloody hell," Crowley groans. "The things I put up with for you two beautiful morons," he adds, waving his hand and teleporting Sam and Dean off to materialize on Dean's bed.

"Crowley," Sam calls out from under Dean even as Dean's trying to steal a kiss, "where the fuck are our clothes?"

But Dean can't breathe at the sudden sensation of Sam gloriously naked underneath him, and his brain fizzes and stutters to a stop when his cock slides against his brother's bare silken _leaking_ length.

Crowley's voice comes from the corridor outside, "A little gift from me."

"Where are Dean's clothes, Crowley?"

Dean manages to steal one more kiss, but before he can curl his hand around Sam his baby brother has ripped himself from under Dean to get off the bed altogether, gorgeous and naked and mouthwateringly _hard._ "Bring back Dean's clothes, you pervert."

The door bangs open and Crowley stalks in, clearly ready with a comeback. Except his lips move soundlessly as his gaze falls to Sam's erect cock and Dean sees red. He scrambles off the bed through a jealous haze and drags Sam back to bed and under the duvet, circling Sam's wrists with his hands roughly and sitting on him to make sure he doesn't get up again. He wants to _kill_ Crowley for even laying eyes on Sam.

"I… Ah…" Crowley croaks, fanning himself. "Would it work if I said Dean's clothes – specifically his boxers-"

"That’s it," Sam shouts, struggling to get up from under Dean.

"-are under a spell that only his lifeblood can undo?"

Sam looks murderous.

"Thought not," Crowley says hoarsely, scowling. "Your selfishness makes no sense, Moose. It's not like I've never seen your big brother's big-"

Sam growls and almost throws Dean off, and Dean glares at Crowley. "Give us back our clothes and get out, you pervert."

"Fine," Crowley waves a hand, and their clothes appears in a heap on the floor.

Together with three of Dean's old boxers.

"Er," Crowley says, throwing a wary glance at Sam. "I seem to have accidentally sent back some old pairs of Dean's. Which I was, er, keeping safe. To, you know, give back to Dean. I'll just leave now. Ta ta," he adds hurriedly, before disappearing.

"I'm gonna _kill_ him," Sam growls.

Dean falls on his brother's mouth. "Must have stolen them from me back when I was a demon," he adds, dizzy with lust and giddy with joy at Sam's possessive fury.

"I can't _stand_ it when he looks at you," Sam snarls into Dean's mouth. "Anyone. When anyone looks at you."

"Ditto," Dean pants, "now c'mere before I eat you alive."

***

A few  _unforgettable_ moments later, as stars explode behind Dean's eyelids while Sam pants against Dean's bare shoulder, Billie's voice floats from somewhere in the bunker.

"Crowley? I came back to dispose of the prisoners. Have you seen the boys? They seemed a little shaken watching John and Mary leave. Wait, I can sense something. Aww, how heartwarming is that? Seeing their parents has brought them… completion."

"Oh good god," Crowley says weakly.

"It's all over their souls. Wait, there's something else too-"

"This is  _torture,"_ Crowley groans.

"I'm incredibly attuned to their soul frequencies, you know. I'm telling you, they're overflowing with a sense of utter and full completion. It's also very new, as if they finally feel whole for the first time in their lives. Aww. You're worried about the boys. Don't look so miserable. They're fine. You can take my word for it. Souls are my specialty."

Crowley groans again.

Dean barely notices that Crowley and Billie have left, or that the bunker is now swathed in silence. He's too busy pressing breathless, dazed, grateful kisses into his baby brother's mouth and smoothing his hair from his eyes and fussing over him, safe and sound in Dean's arms on Dean's bed. Just the way Dean had never known he needed it to be.

And Sam is kissing him back. 

 


End file.
